


Obitine Week 2020

by Oppo Rancisis (NowThatsDedication)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Korkie!, Sappy stuff, Sexual Misadventures, lustful thoughts, tragic pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowThatsDedication/pseuds/Oppo%20Rancisis
Summary: Day 1: Seven Deadly SinsDay 2: Role SwapDay 3: Angst/SoftDay 4: Past/FutureDay 5: Behind Closed DoorsDay 6: SacrificeDay 7: Anything
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	1. Seven Deadly Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Compilation of my Obitine Week fic that was originally posted on Tumblr.

_Her lips_...

In their perpetual pout, tempting him. Obi-Wan wants to pull on them with his teeth. Hopefully it isn't obvious that he’s staring at her lips. 

Satine takes a provocative sip from the bottle. Neither of them can identify what it is, but it’s strong and burns on the way down. A good burn; it keeps them warm inside despite their cold surroundings. Along with temporary safety, they found several bottles within this old bunker. It was the will of the Force, apparently.

“What are you staring at?”

_Your lips_

“N-nothing,” he recoils like a naughty child caught in the act. The alcohol has made him awfully tipsy. He can almost float away. It’s like meditation, but without the control. 

“I envy you, I really do,” she slurs her words a bit. He finds it endearing. 

“Huh? Why is that?”

“You don’t have several bounties on your head. Or even one. Who would want to kill you? You’re so...inoffensive.”

He shrugs, accepting it as a compliment. How does one even respond to that? 

“And so I think you’re quite lucky.” 

“I disagree. Well…” the booze makes him brave and honest and _stupid_ , “I think I am lucky in a way. I have...I've been given the most beautiful...mission in the galaxy. I’m often...in awe...of how lucky I...that I know...such an incredible...duchess...I mean, woman.”

It makes sense in his head, it really does. 

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say. But I urge you to continue.” She hides a giddy smile behind her hand.

Carefully, slowly, he forms his thoughts into words: “I wish...I could take you on my arm...and show you off...because you would turn every head on Coruscant.”

“Obi, you are exceptionally charming in this state! If only I could witness it more often. I want more of _this_. Nothing holding us back. Please, indulge me with your sweet nonsense.” Another long, seductive sip without breaking eye contact. 

He has enough sense left to realize this is a bad idea. He has said too much. She might forget by tomorrow, she might not.

“Maybe you’ve had enough for tonight,” he gestures at her to hand over the bottle. He must not have any sense left if he assumes she’ll comply.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” 

She is beautiful when she’s angry. Like a glorious force of nature destroying everything in its path. Beautiful, terrifying.

“Please don’t get angry, Satine. ( _Oh, please stay angry, Satine_ ) It’s a difficult emotion to control...especially when intoxicated.” 

“There you go with your smug superiority! I’m not a Jedi, I’m free to feel however I want!”

“But you... _are_ intoxicated.”

“As are _you_.” 

That look. He recognizes it from somewhere. Ah, yes: a hungry nexu about to attack its prey. 

She lunges. He flinches reflexively, even though he eagerly accepts this course of action. Her lips, those pouting, furious lips on his. She pulls on them with her teeth, but not gently like he would have; no, she is going to devour him and Obi-Wan is fine with that. 

He is suddenly awash with a hundred different emotions. Drowning in them, actually. His head is spinning for several reasons, mainly because of _her_. She tastes like unknown liquor and passion and she’s tugging on his hair now. He doesn’t know where to put his hands so they roam around without a destination and he wants more. He never wants it to stop. Everything is wonderful and dizzying and then...nothing.

It feels like a thousand years later when he finally wakes. 

His head is still spinning, but in a bad way. It hurts to move. Satine is watching him, sighing and shaking her head.

“What happened?” 

“You passed out. Hours ago. Rather ungracefully, too. I _think_ you had too much to drink.”

“But what about…you weren’t affected?”

“I admit I have a slight headache.”

Mandalorian blood must consist mainly of fiery, potent alcohol to begin with. It would explain so much. 

“I can’t remember anything after…”

“After _what_?” 

“You kissed me.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” She throws her hands up in disbelief. “Obi-Wan, you must have been _delirious_!”

He touches his bottom lip. It’s sore. The truth is being twisted by either his memories or Satine, he’s not completely sure. Could he have dreamed up such an intense experience, even in his stupor?

“Again, I envy you. I wish I had such a vivid imagination.” There is a sinful glint in her eyes. 

Obi-Wan can’t summon the strength or motivation to move. There are tasks to be done; important tasks like replenishing their dwindling rations. But he decides to give up and remain on the floor. Even lifting his head takes too much effort. 

“I do hope you won’t get into any trouble over this. I wasn’t aware you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“That’s not...I _can_ , you know. I can.”

“Yes, yes of course.” She, too, is lazing about; her hair uncharacteristically askew, presumably from some intense activity. 

“Satine, if you _had_ kissed me…would you regret it?”

“That would be quite an accomplishment, to seduce a Jedi. I’d be inclined to boast about it. _If_ I did.”

“I see.”

“But I certainly wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t regret it?”

“I wouldn’t _kiss_ you.”

She is so beautiful when she lies. 

  
  



	2. Role Swap

Somewhere in the galaxy, a message is recorded by a man in singed robes. It is transmitted to a woman in exile.

She receives it, not with eagerness but with dread; it is programmed to play just once. She has heard the whispers, the rumors. A flickering blue image appears:

_Satine…the Jedi Order has fallen. The Republic is no more._ _This is my goodbye. You deserve more, but it’s all I'm able to give you now. You must remain hidden and never search for me. I have one final mission. If I am discovered, the lives of...innocents will also be in danger. I can no longer honor the promise I made all those years ago...to keep you safe. That was all I could ever promise you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. Please take care. Remember, my dear Satine...I’ve always loved you. I always will._

“Please come back to me,” she begs. 

But he is gone


	3. Angst/Soft

It has been a long, stressful month since she’s been in hiding. Running  _ and  _ hiding, actually. And today, flying. They told her not to send messages, but this is a trustworthy source and Satine is desperate for news. Any news. 

She excuses herself from the cockpit, shielding the comlink from the Jedi. Then she listens in horror.

_ “ _ No, she wouldn’t! It can’t be!” 

Oh, but she would. Satine knows deep down it’s true. It hurts, deeply. Her own sister - an enemy?

She lets out a sob, covering her mouth before more can escape. The tears are already falling and she can’t let them see. She  _ will _ hide her weakness from them. From everyone.

As she turns the corner, rushing for a solitary place to cry, she hears the older Jedi say: “No, let her go. She needs her space.”

Satine has been too stubborn to succumb to her grief. She is  _ not _ weak, she is a leader now. But the dreadful news has finally broken her and she cries because her sister wants her dead, because the future is uncertain, because she doubts her abilities. She feels as if she might flood this small room with her tears and drown. Because she is alone. 

Eventually a soft knock interupts her sorrows.

“Duchess?” 

She doesn’t give him permission to enter but he does anyway, with soft, concerned eyes. He appears nervous, almost frightened. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan sits down beside her. 

“Yes,” she answers, mid-sob. She’s not fooling anyone, of course. 

“Would you like to talk?”

“No.”

She buries her face back into her arms, about to scream “go away;” she wants him to leave...and wants him to stay. Then she wouldn’t be completely alone. 

“You know, if-”

“ _ Stop _ speaking.”

“Sorry.”

“Shhh.”

He says nothing further, just moves in a little closer. Not too close. She appreciates this. She can sense his hand hovering over her for a bit until he decides to place it on her back. He keeps it there. That is all she needs right now.

Well, maybe a little more; she rests her head on his shoulder. She is thankful for that shoulder, and for the rest of him too. The young duchess is reluctant to acknowledge how much she has grown to care about this daring Jedi padawan.

When she has finally exhausted herself, he silently escorts her to her quarters. He removes his robe and drapes it around her like a blanket. She is enamored by this. As he helps her up into her bunk, she has one request: “Please don’t think of me as weak.”

“I would never. I think you are exceptionally strong.” He raises her hand to his lips and gives the lightest, most gentle kiss she ever thought possible. 

Satine wakes up tangled in a Jedi robe. It smells like him. She doesn’t want to dwell on  _ why _ this comforts her, so she folds it neatly and puts yesterday behind her. Like all the other yesterdays. 

Qui-Gon is at the controls again. She’s beginning to believe he never sleeps. Then Obi-Wan enters and sheepishly hands her a cup of tea; watery tea, because it’s the last of their supply. She is grateful for this. 

She hands him back his robe. “Thank you.”

“I’m here...if you need me, that is.”

She casts her eyes down, embarrassed that he had witnessed a moment of weakness, unaware of a near future where he will see much more; the best and worst of her. Of  _ them _ . 

  
  
  



	4. Past/Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation

Satine, do you remember when every day was an uncertainty? How we fought and fled to simply survive? 

It was a challenging time, to say the least. We were so young.

We certainly have some stories, as well as scars. 

Like the scar you left when you  _ dropped _ me.

You’ve already reminded me twice since we’ve reunited. 

But Draboon wasn’t  _ all _ bad...

Ah, yes, like those nights we slept alone under the stars.

I don’t recall there being much sleep, Obi. 

Oh, right. Anyway, remember when we lived off of those horrible eels for a week?

Or the time you took on three bounty hunters by yourself...

...And you tore off pieces of your skirt to dress my wounds. 

Magenta silk bandages. Finally there was some color in your attire. 

What about our intense debates?

They would last for hours! But I always won.

I think you are misremembering.

No, I’m certainly not.

Let’s agree to disagree.

Well, Qui-Gon eventually forbade us from political, historical, and philosophical discussion because we couldn’t be civil. 

Yes…

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up past grief.

Don’t apologize. He isn’t the past, he is always with me, in a way. 

That’s beautiful. I do understand. About keeping someone in your heart. 

It is a comforting sentiment for those we have lost. 

But I never truly  _ lost _ ...nevermind. Remember when you taught me about letting go?

I learned so much from you, too.

We are both wiser now, I hope. 

I don’t think we should do this.

We’re only reminiscing about old times.

I know. But it-

Hurts?

No. Quite the opposite.

Obi-Wan?

Satine...

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Behind Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by that Force user jail box thing in TCW season 7, because why did there happen to be just one left on Mandalore? ;)

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Obi-Wan circled the contraption with curiosity.

Satine flashed a wicked grin. “Among other things.” 

“It’s a restraint of some kind.”

“Why, yes it is. For Force wielders, specifically. Such archaic devices are no longer needed here and I had them destroyed. However, I kept one for personal use. A Jedi can be awfully hard to  _ restrain _ .”

His eyes widened, his pulse quickened. 

“I had a feeling you’d be interested.” She ran her fingers through his beard and across his lips, all while scanning the rest of his body with a hungry gaze. “I can see you’re already eager.”

“Eager to please you, of course.” He went straight for her neck, breathing heavily on that one spot that could bring her to her knees.

“”Not yet,” it took every bit of her willpower to pull away. “Strip and get in there,” she ordered, in a tone he would never say  _ no  _ to. 

“As long as you don’t blindfold me. I want to watch you,” he requested as he stepped inside. 

She flipped a switch and his wrists and ankles were suddenly bound by tight shackles. The chamber hummed, casting a red glow over his body.

“How does it feel?” 

“I can’t move. At all,” he confirmed with a nervous laugh. “And there is a slight tingling sensation.”

“Perfect.” The Duchess leaned into her captive. She nipped at his ear and whispered something so obscene that he shuddered. 

Obi-Wan was beginning to have second thoughts about this. But for her, he would crawl through fire -  _ and like it _ . What’s the worst that could happen? Some bruises and bites?

“I’ll be gentle to start.” She reached for something behind her back. 

“What’s that for?” A loud spark of electricity silenced his question.

“Just trust me,” she assured, as she prodded a delicate spot.

He groaned and she couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure or pain but she  _ loved _ it.

And so did he.

****

“I...I...think I’m...that’s enough,” he panted, after being brought to the brink several times. She had toyed with him, relentlessly, but refused to let him finish. Not yet. There would be some odd marks on his body in the morning. 

“Are you sure? I’m enjoying this.” Actually, she was relieved; if she had to hear him gasp and moan and whimper much longer she would lose it herself. 

“I can’t let you...have all the fun. I very much want to touch you. And taste you. And maybe tease you...if you will allow?”

“Very well. You surrender?”

“I surrender,” he admitted, exhausted, yet still ready to reciprocate. 

“Your endurance is impressive. But I guess I’ll have to release you now. Or should I say,  _ unleash _ you.”

He let out a low growl. Beads of sweat dripped down his brow, down his chest, unable to be shaken away.

“I was rather hard on you, wasn’t I?”

“I’m not going to punish you, but I  _ will _ pleasure you. I am at your command. Just set me free.”

She bit her lip and clenched her fists, shivering with anticipation. “I can’t wait...”

“...I can’t open it.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“The controls seem to be stuck.”

“That isn’t something to joke about.”

“I’m not.”

“ _ Satine… _ ”

“Don’t worry, we can get creative.” 

“There are greater concerns right now...I can’t stay in here forever!”

“Don’t give me ideas,” she snarled, mashing the buttons in frustration.  _ Oh, the frustration _ .


	6. Sacrifice

Duchess Satine Kryze of Kalevala can be very convincing. It’s a talent that has served her well. It’s a gift. Except when she convinces herself everything is fine - then it’s a curse. 

Everything is fine. 

Once, not long ago, she almost veered off course. Away from her plan, or the illusion of a plan; she  _ knows _ life can’t be controlled but she can convince herself it can be.

All because of a gallant young Jedi with auburn hair who kept her safe and stole her heart. She didn’t want to steal his life so she made a big decision. Then a bigger decision. 

And now, surrounded by walls of glass and the lights of a reborn city, she continues to convince herself it was the best decision. The weight of it threatens to crush her, shatter her into a million pieces. But she can’t break because no one would pick up the pieces and then how will she endure her duties? Her ideals, this new world - they  _ must _ survive. 

No, she can’t break; instead, it chips away at her slowly, so slowly that no one will notice if pieces are missing. 

So everything is fine when the little boy with light auburn hair visits her. She hugs him tight, hardly believing he is real; how can someone so perfect be real? 

“Auntie Satine, tell me about the Mythosaurs.

She tells him about Mythosaur again.

“Did you see one?”

“No, they’ve been gone for thousands of years  _ ner ad’ika _ ,” she laughs. Sometimes she feels that old.

“Auntie, how big are the Mythosaurs?”

Of all her impressive accomplishments, everything she has had a hand in creating; this thriving planet, a new government,  _ peace _ …she is most proud of this little auburn-haired boy. 

When he leaves, after the goodbyes, and “I love you”s and “be good”s, after the hugs that will have to last until next time, she is alone. Alone with her guilt and a drink that isn’t strong enough. 

Satine refuses to break, although it’s chipping away at her slowly and there are already pieces missing. Two pieces of her heart. She raises a glass to her lips and wonders how she manages to appear mostly whole. 

Everything is fine. 


End file.
